


i was born with the gift of fear

by naughtyskeletonpuns (badskeletonpuns)



Series: perhaps, perhaps, perhaps [3]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Goosebumps (2015 movie), M/M, Mild Dom/Sub Dynamic, Unfortunate Rabbit Jokes, in that ben is sort of figuring out that he likes being a bratty sub, mild fear kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19372438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskeletonpuns/pseuds/naughtyskeletonpuns
Summary: Goosebumps is not a scary movie. Ben is not scared of regular scary movies, and he's DEFINITELY not scared of Goosebumps. No way, no how. ... He just wants to be closer to Sammy for regular reasons. Not scared reasons. Or sexy reasons. Neither of things are happening here.(Spoiler alert: both scared reasons and sexy reasons are involved.)





	i was born with the gift of fear

**Author's Note:**

> someone: wendy, don't you have the riding shotgun epilogue and the challenge fills to work on?  
> me:   
> me, two seconds later: but i wrote this OTHER FIC anyway! bc who could NOT write it, upon seeing [this lovely and inspiring art by domi?](https://twitter.com/domirine/status/1134193578765357062) it's the last image in the tweet, the one of them cuddling on the couch. they're watching goosebumps and neither of them are scared, no sir.

Ben is not afraid. Horror movies are just—disrespectful, that’s all! Disrespectful to apparitions. Apparitions that get people lost in Perdition Wood and threw Ben across the library that one time. Apparitions that are occasionally creepy as fuck void shadows from, again, Perdition Wood. 

Basically King Falls might as well be on a Hellmouth, and Ben just doesn’t want to antagonize anything from said Hellmouth. It’s logic. 

“I’m not scared!” he insists aloud. 

Sammy, sitting on his couch an appropriately ‘bro’ distance away, glances over at Ben. “I didn’t say you were scared. I said, ‘Why don’t we watch Goosebumps,’ and you were quiet for two minutes before blurting out that you weren’t scared.” 

Ben scoffs and waves his hands,  _ completely unintentionally _ scooting a little closer to Sammy. “I didn’t say you said it! I was just—uh, making sure! That you knew!” 

“Mhhm.” Sammy smirks at Ben, just a little, and Ben knows he’s getting away with nothing.

“Shut up,” he mutters, and grabs the remote. “Let’s just watch the movie.” 

The lead—Ben can’t remember his name—and a girl are walking around an amusement park, which is creepy and abandoned because the directors of this movie hated Ben, personally. He draws his knees up towards himself, preparing for a shitty, fake jumpscare that he is  _ not _ going to get startled by.

Sammy crunches popcorn next to him, a much-needed distraction from the way the soundtrack is thrumming slowly, building up to—

“Holy shit!” Ben shouts, because it’s probably supposed to be a fakeout scare but they filmed a  _ fucking raccoon _ ,  _ that’s a nightmare in itself _ . He doesn’t even realize he’s catapulted himself to Sammy’s side of the couch until he opens his eyes. There’s only the soft darkness of Sammy’s t-shirt in front of him; he’s tucked his face into Sammy’s chest and grabbed bunches of Sammy’s shirt in both hands. 

Sammy pats his back. “You doing okay there?” There’s a hint of a laugh in his voice, but his hands are big and comforting and Ben doesn’t want him to stop, so he just nods. 

“Mmfine.” 

(When Sammy stops patting, he doesn’t move his arm from around Ben. They haven’t talked about this thing between them, haven’t done anything since that hazy summer night on the station roof, but sometimes, Ben wants… he doesn’t know. He just  _ wants.) _

Another clatter sounds from the TV speakers, and Ben’s attention is pulled back to the movie. It’s fine. He’s going to be fine. He’s not going to scream at any more jumpscares, he’s not going to be cuddlier with Sammy than is perfectly reasonable for a couple of friends watching a scary movie, and he is really not going to think about how nice it would be if Sammy pulled him onto his lap right now. 

… Shit, now he can’t  _ stop  _ thinking about that. 

The main characters are investigating some creepy-ass books. Probably. Ben isn’t sure what’s happening in the movie, aside from the fact that it’s making his heart beat double-time and his breath come fast and shallow. He keeps stealing little glances at Sammy, keeps remembering how it felt to straddle Sammy’s thighs and grind down so slow, keeps being  _ super not chill _ about all the stuff Sammy seems to be so chill about. None of that is making his heart beat like this. 

That’s all just—the body’s physiological response to fear! That’s it! 

A book onscreen falls open to reveal some CG frost thing and Ben’s shrieking at the suddenness of it, throwing his hands over his face and scooting even closer to Sammy. He’s nearly in Sammy’s lap already, one ankle hooked over Sammy’s leg. 

“You need me to pause it or anything?” Sammy’s voice is low and rough in Ben’s ear, still with that hint of teasing, and Ben shivers. 

“No, no, keep going,” he declares. “I can handle it!”  _ I said, you know, like a liar _ , he completes in his head, watching the leads try and outwit the snow beast and wincing every time they come close to being killed by it. It’ll be fine. If Sammy can be cool, then so can Ben. 

Ben cannot be cool. “I swear that doll is  _ looking at me _ ,” he hisses at Sammy, who fucking laughs, the asshole, but at least starts rubbing small circles on Ben’s back. It’s harder than Ben would like to admit not to arch back into the touch. 

“Ben, it’s just a movie. For God’s sake, this isn’t even R-rated! We should watch  _ Get Out  _ sometime.” 

“No! No, we should not— _ shit _ what’s it doing now why are the lights turning off—”

Sammy slaps his free hand over Ben’s mouth. “Shush.” 

For a second, they just look at each other. Lit only by the ever-shifting light of the TV screen, Sammy’s face seems almost unfamiliar, even though Ben’s seen him nearly every day for hours for the past few years. The dips and peaks of his nose, his eyes, his mouth—everything is shadowed, new and strange. 

His hand on Ben’s face is warm and dry. Ben wants to push against it to see if Sammy will push back, to learn how much strength Sammy will put into keeping Ben still.

The second passes; Ben licks Sammy’s palm and Sammy scrunches up his face and jerks his hand away to wipe it on the blanket. “Jack-in-the-Box Jesus, are you twelve?” 

“You’d better hope not, otherwise you’re a fuckin’ cradle robber,” Ben mumbles, purposefully looking off into the corner of the room. 

“Oh, you wanna bring that up now?”

“Maybe!” Ben says, lifting his chin and shrugging like he hasn’t a care in the world. “What are you gonna do about it?” 

“Fuck you, Ben,” Sammy grumbles, “you cannot dare me into making out with you! I’m smarter than that—hell,  _ you’re _ smarter than that!” 

“Are you, though?” Ben teases, and he reaches over Sammy to grab the remote. It would be hard to miss the way Sammy’s eyes follow the arc of his arm as he moves. Sammy isn’t even  _ pretending _ to look at the TV screen. 

So maybe Sammy’s not super chill about this either. That’s cool. Ben can work with that. 

Ben turns off the TV; it winks to black in the middle of what looks to be a bunch of fucking, evil lawn gnomes or something? He doesn’t think they’re missing much. 

There’s barely any light now, just a mixture of street lamps and moonlight filtering in through the blinds of Sammy’s apartment. Ben has to squint to see Sammy in front of him, even though the two of them are, to put it lightly, close. They’re close enough that their legs are tangled together beneath the afghan and Sammy still has an arm around Ben, albeit loosely. If the lights were on, Ben thinks, he’d be able to make out Sammy’s eyelashes all long and golden, so pale that you can hardly see them from far away. 

Ben tugs the blanket away and settles into Sammy’s lap, combing his hands through Sammy’s hair until he can pull out the tie and bobby pins keeping it up. 

“Hey, that took time,” Sammy protests, but he closes his eyes and leans into Ben’s hands anyway, so Ben doesn’t think he minds too much. 

Ben’s heart is beating too fast even now, but he kind of has to admit at this point that it’s not the movie making his face heat up and breath come so quickly. It’s all too much for a second: Sammy looks up at him with something dangerously close to affection, lying beneath him all solid and steady and Ben knows, then. They’ve been friends for less than a year, but Ben could love him. Maybe he’s already starting to. 

He collapses onto Sammy, hiding his face in Sammy’s neck. 

“Movie too scary for you, huh?” And that’s definitely mockery, but it’s not unkind, and Ben can’t bring himself to mind. Especially when Sammy starts petting his hair. He murmurs something like an assent and squirms a little closer to Sammy. 

His breath hitches at the unintended friction, and he squirms again, rolling his hips down against Sammy’s. On Ben’s shoulders and head, Sammy’s fingers tighten. 

“Sure you wanna start this?” Sammy asks, but he’s already grinding up to meet Ben’s movements. Ben nods, trusting Sammy to feel the movement. 

They shuffle around—or, well, Sammy shuffles and Ben sort of is shuffled along—until Sammy’s lying along the couch, his head pillowed on the armrest, and Ben’s stretched out on top of him. It’s easier to get leverage like this. 

Ben can prop himself up on Sammy’s chest, leaning forward in the dark till their lips meet, and he never has to stop the push-pull of friction between their hips. 

Time slips away in the darkness of Sammy’s living room, but that too-quick beat of Ben’s heart and his harsh breaths stay right here with him. 

“Your pulse is going like a rabbit,” Sammy murmurs, and because Ben is an idiot, he can’t stop himself from blurting out a response.

“I can think of a couple, uh, other things rabbits—”

Sammy kisses him again, draws it out a little till Ben is making these little whining sounds against Sammy’s lips and leaning in for more every time Sammy moves the slightest bit away. “I know,” Sammy whispers, “you were not just about to bring up  _ rabbit sex _ .” 

“Maybe I was. You couldn’t—ah,  _ oh _ —stop me,” Ben gets out. Sammy sighs into Ben’s neck, where he’s very carefully not biting down hard enough to leave marks. 

After all, Ben’s got—they’ve got—the show to think of? Right? There are other people in town. It wouldn’t work out. This is the best way to do things. Ben keeps telling himself that, hoping that if he says it enough times it’ll stop sounding like a lie. 

He does not tell himself anything about Emily. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Sammy says, muffled by the collar of Ben’s shirt. He’s tugging it down, baring Ben’s skin to the cool evening air. 

Ben shakes his head. “It’s nothing, it’s fine. It’s cool.” 

Sammy just ‘mhhms’ him, and Ben is going to fire back some witty quip, he really is. But Sammy bites down on Ben’s collarbone moments after, just  _ barely _ low enough to hide the hickey that’s sure to result, and Ben can’t help but get distracted. 

Sammy winds him up like it’s easy, like Ben’s a damn wind-up toy and Sammy’s a kid with all afternoon to set plastic gears to grinding. 

There’s no specific place where Sammy’s touching him, it’s just all of it, just everything. All the places where Sammy’s chest and stomach press against Ben’s, all the heat and friction where they grind into each other, every time Sammy grabs at Ben’s shoulder or hooks an ankle around Ben’s calf to drag him closer. 

It’s more than Ben thought he could have at once, and the darkness and quiet of the room around them only heightens the electricity of Sammy’s touch. 

“Sammy—Sammy!” he starts, and Sammy drops his hands from Ben’s shoulders to clutch Ben’s ass and haul him impossibly closer. Ben groans and comes in his pants. 

Sammy keeps going for another minute or another year, Ben can’t really tell. He just knows the pleasure rolling through him, so overwhelming it nearly aches. He’s whining, panting, and Sammy’s talking into his ear as he ruts up against Ben, words dirty and sweet all at once. Sammy comes slowly, quietly, voice catching on Ben’s name one last time. 

They lie in each other’s embrace, sweaty and breathing hard. For a second, Ben’s worried that this was it. It was nice till now, but this was the one he fucked up. He was too desperate, wanted too much, and Sammy’s not gonna want to hook up again or not gonna want to be even friends. Ben isn’t sure which would be worse.

“So,” Ben says, because he has to break the silence before Sammy might break his heart. He clears his throat. “Want to. Um. Finish the movie?” 

Sammy bursts out laughing and Ben can’t help but laugh along. For now, at least, he knows they’re going to be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> i have never seen goosebumps and did a minimum of research on the subject—yes, there is an abandoned amusement park scene, but i do not think there's actually a fake raccoon jumpscare. there are definitely evil garden gnomes. a creepy ventriloquist doll is there. also the title, the title is a quote from the movie.  
> thanks again to the samben discord for the inspiration!!!!! you are all treasures to meeee


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